


Perfect Vision

by AliceSchuyler



Series: Languages of Love [2]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Carlos is a noodle, Contacts, Glasses, M/M, Sickfic, This was more about nerding out rather than Carlos being sick, domestic type fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 08:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceSchuyler/pseuds/AliceSchuyler
Summary: Carlos always wore contacts, unless he couldn't.TK's never seen him wearing glasses.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Series: Languages of Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214774
Comments: 15
Kudos: 271





	Perfect Vision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiniestmite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestmite/gifts).



> This little fluff is for someone's birthdaaaay (because the bigger recovery fic is taking longer than expected because Sydney is flooding this weekend and that's a thing that takes my time sadly so here's a little one for you)

Of course he’d become sick while TK is out of town.

TK’s been away for three days, and the cold flu that Carlos is suffering through took up residence in his chest practically the same night TK left. He’s congested, sniffling, resigning himself to hunkering down on the lounge with a blanket, a box of tissues, and a practically endless Netflix catalogue to entertain himself while he tries to recover because his stupid immune system just can’t cope.

He knows it’s the stress, the anxiety that’s wearing him down, and it always manifests as some cold or flu; once it turned into bronchitis and he hopes to never go down that path again because the recovery was an absolute _bitch_ , every cough leaving him desperate for more oxygen. He doesn’t feel like that yet, but he knows if he doesn’t look after himself, he’s probably looking at a visit to urgent care if he’s not careful. Paul’s dropped by a few times, to make sure he’s still alive, and to drop off more supplies so he doesn’t die of starvation, and he literally darts into the house, makes sure he gets a response as he drops groceries on the counter, before practically sprinting out the door.

He briefly entertains the thought of Paul catching whatever ailment he’s suffering through, just so someone else can feel as bad as he does for a moment.

His nose is blocked, thick right through his head, making it hard to think around the congestion in his head and chest, wishing he could just take a single breath, to remember what it was like to simply inhale. He’s easily gone through a box of tissues, nose red from the constant wiping on his sleeve because he’s miserable.

The worst of it though is the pressure on his eyes, the fact they’re constantly watering, and he has to take out his contacts, wearing the glasses that he’s always tried to avoid since he became a cop. They’re thick rimmed, black, and he’s feels uncomfortable wearing them. He’s not even sure TK knows that he wears glasses or needs contacts, because he’s always been so careful to make sure that he’s never seen removing them.

It's the first time he’s had to stop wearing his contacts since dating TK, and his tired brain doesn’t even care what anyone thinks, he just wants cuddles and warm tea because he feels godawful, and he’s going to curse Hunter for bringing the plague to work and _sharing_. He blows his nose again, dumping the dead tissue in the trash can next to him, and snuffles as he draws his blanket around his chest, peering through his glasses to watch the TV, some episode of Schitt’s Creek playing out on the screen. An abandoned cup of tea sits on the coffee table, congealing and cold, and he knows he’s probably dehydrated, but he’s too unwell to really care at this stage, hoping he can just sleep off the symptoms.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up he feels infinitely worse, and squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness that leaves him feeling light-headed.

“Come on babe, I left my keys inside.”

Ah, _that’s_ what woke him up. Carlos stood up, wrapping the quilt around his shoulders before shuffling unsteadily to the front door. He flicked the lock open, twisting the handle and pulling open the handle. He glances at TK, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline, and if he wasn’t feeling so unwell he’d probably laugh at the ridiculous look on his face.

“Hey tiger. I thought you weren’t coming back until Friday,” said Carlos, congestion slurring his words. He coughed into his elbow, and TK can almost feel the wracking coughs through his own chest, memories of the last time he himself had a chest infection.

“Paul called, said you weren’t well, and suggested I might like to cut my trip short,” said TK awkwardly, rubbing his neck absentmindedly. Carlos shrugged before pulling his blanket up higher, resettling his glasses before dragging his feet back to the couch, dropping back into the corner where’s he’s basically been camping out for the last few days. TK shut the door behind him, dropping his duffel on the floor and toeing off his shoes, socked feet sliding on the floor. He moved over to the couch, lifting up Carlos’ feet and placing them on his lap as he sat down.

“Missed you,” Carlos whispered quietly.

“I missed you too. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” replied TK gently.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad. Hunter was back at work after two days off, and I’m still sick after three,” admitted Carlos.

“Because if you’re anything like me when you’re sick, you’re probably not good at looking after yourself. What do you need?”

Carlos let his head fall sideways against the lounge, the arms of his glasses pressing into his temple. “To feel better,” he said wearily. TK moved Carlos’ feet off his lap, standing up and tidying up the loungeroom.

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get you sorted, okay?” Carlos nodded, struggling to sit upright. TK put a gentle hand under his elbow, helping him sit up while pressing a palm to his forehead. “You have a bit of a fever too, that’s probably why you feel so crap.” Carlos closed his eyes for a moment, or what feels like a moment, before TK is pressing a warm mug into his hands.

“What’s this?”

“Just some tea, and then when you’re finished there’s a bottle of water on the coffee table for you too so you can take some Tylenol. We’ll see how you feel after that, and we’ll get some food into you after some rest.” Carlos sips the hot tea, the warm liquid filling his insides, and he takes the two Tylenol tablets from TK, swallowing them quickly. He set the mug on the table before sliding his glasses off his face and popping them next to the coaster, rubbing his eyes to try and relieve the pressure feeling. He noticed TK watching him, eyes warm and caring, and he raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” replied TK, sitting next to him on the couch and slinging an arm over the back of it.

“I don’t. I wear contacts, but when I’m sick I have to take them out, so… glasses or trip over everything, to be honest,” Carlos answers bluntly.

“You look really good in them. Like, if you weren’t sick, I’d be doing all sorts of things to you now,” admitted TK, face flushing. Carlos grins for a moment, before a hacking cough steals his breath, leaving him gasping. TK runs a gentle hand over his back, before pulling Carlos towards himself, settling him on his chest, the blanket tugged up around Carlos’ shoulders. He cues the next episode of Schitt’s Creek, before dropping the remote at his side and running his hands through Carlos’ hair, a gentle massage at the base of his scalp. Carlos melts immediately, the tension he’d been holding in finally bleeding from his body as TK worked his magic on his skin, eyes drifting closed.

“Thank you for coming home to look after me,” whispered Carlos drowsily.

“I know you’d do the same for me, if I told you I was sick,” replied TK, kissing the top of Carlos’ head.

“I would, because you’re worth it.”

* * *

The next few days are spent finally recovering, finishing Schitt’s Creek and moving on to The West Wing, TK feeding him soups and broths, making sure he’s hydrated, tissues still in high demand and he’s really starting to feel better, at long last, and he’s definitely getting Hunter back for his germs and inability to keep things to himself.

Not once does TK let him take off his glasses, other than when he’s sleeping.

Carlos wishes he’d worn them sooner for the amount of attention he’s getting with them on, because _damn_ TK gets flustered when he puts them on in the morning, and his heart skips a beat knowing that he’s making him feel like that.

And so what if he changes his routine when he gets home? Before, he’d leave the contacts in until just before bed, and wake up before TK to pop them back in his eyes in the mornings. Now he removes the contacts as soon as he settles in for the night, putting on his glasses while he’s in the house, because he knows that TK loves them, loves him, and doesn’t care whether he wears glasses or contacts – but definitely prefers glasses.

_The hickeys on his neck don’t lie._

And a week later, when TK comes home with the same congestion hanging heavy in his chest? Carlos doesn’t hesitate to put in for a few sick days, to nurse TK back to health.

_Of course he wears his glasses._


End file.
